Limitations
by Rainsaber
Summary: Five flaws in the character of Charles Xavier, brought to light by his dearest friend, almost lover, and greatest enemy. First Class era. Charles/Erik pairing.
1. Of body

**Limitations**

**A/N: **_Be warned that this is not strictly a friendship fic, though it starts out as one. There be romance about halfway through the entire story because the chemistry between those two in the movie is just too damn ridiculous to ignore. I was very happy to see the explosion of Charles/Erik fics out there, and I couldn't resist putting my two cents in. I really wanted to post this as a one shot, but the sucker got too long for one. SO, this will be a five chapter story. No more and no less than that. Structure and style should be pretty self-explanatory. Please Read and Review in kind!_

**Disclaimer:** _I own nada, nothing, zilch, zip._

_(1) Of body…_

He was but a child when it all started, when the feelings of loneliness and being the only different person on the entire planet started to fade. He never had the courage to imagine that he wasn't alone, only because if he did let himself believe that, then the weight of disappointment would ruin him, ruin everything. He had lived in fear since the day he first discovered that he was something more. And when Raven came into his life, the joy and relief were so immense that he thought he would surely burst at the thought.

It was a natural high that Charles didn't dare let himself fall from, because he had been waiting for this his entire life, for the validation and acceptance, even if it was just from one person. Someone like him was an added bonus. He devoted his life to why and how they had ended up the way they were, convinced that there were others just like them. But the problem that had plagued him for years was that he didn't know where to start looking. Too many variables and possibilities. Too many untested theories and not enough time to sift through the entire human population.

Now…

Now the idea was sheer child's play. What started out as a handful of hopefuls turned into an entire secret race of mutants, of people just like the person he had been once. Going about their daily lives. Fearing for others and themselves about their strange and freaky gift. So many minds bleeding in fear and excitement over a common thread that ran through them all, through a new generation of humanity.

Cerebro gave Charles the power to finally see what he didn't let himself dream of. It instilled such a rush of power and insight that he vaguely thought this must be what all his experimenting colleagues had been talking about. The beauty of it entranced him, made him hunger for more as he searched his brothers and sisters out, one by one. The buoyancy in his chest was what kept him determined and on his feet, even though his fisted hands on the rails were starting to shake and buckle under the weight of his exhaustion.

"Charles-" someone started.

But he wanted more. He needed to see more. "I'm fine," he said, surprising himself with the certainty in his own voice.

Men. Women. Children. Old and young. Dying and never more alive. Across seas and continents. In Cerebro there were no nationalities. It was all a pleasant gray blur that he navigated through, searching beacons out like a wayward ship that had just regained it's mooring. So many possibilities. So many that it made him stop with a realization that it would take him years to find them all.

He heard the machine stop and some talking. The gray started to fade back into the light of the lab. The machine was shutting down, and Charles felt a twinge of momentary sadness. But that was replaced with the notion that this would not be the last time he used it. Cerebro was simply far too useful for its own good. It acted as an extension of himself, as if it were waiting all these years for him to use it. And who was he to deny innovation when it was clearly such a benefit? It was no weapon, and that was what intrigued him most of all.

Once the gray was gone and his vision returned he boldly reached up to lift the helmet off his head with both hands. Satisfied with himself, he then tried to take a step forward. But as soon as he did, the elation dropped out from under him, replacing a dizzy heat of fatigue and weakness in its wake. A different kind of gray returned and tunneled in his sight.

"Charles!" Three voices. One tone. Worry.

After some time he became aware of the fact that his eyes were closed. When he opened them, as much as he dared against the roaring pain in his head, he caught sight of his worried friends knelt down to his level and invading his personal space. He couldn't find it in him to do anything other than let loose the laughter that rose up in his chest. They didn't know. They didn't understand what he had just seen and felt. They didn't know!

"Uh, he might be a little loopy for a while," Hank said, apologetic.

"Loopy," Erik growled in question.

"He _has_ been at it for hours-"

"What-you didn't think to stop for a break," Raven exclaimed.

Too loud. Too tired. And in pain. "I just…need to rest," Charles said, though not without effort.

"God damn right you do!" Raven. Charles cringed at the sound of her voice, rising in pitch with every passing word. "Why do you do this to yourself? I'm starting to think you like-"

_For the love of God, my friend,_ he sent to Erik, past the point of caring how he sounded. _Please, make her stop._

"Enough," Erik said. "I'll take the idiot back to his room. We're done for the day."

Getting up was easy when you had someone like Erik to support your dead weight. But sustaining a sudden burst of adrenaline down long hallways and up a flight of stairs taxed it quicker than he liked. Though his vision began to skew and beads of sweat rolled down the side of his face, he maintained as passive a front as he could manage. The one thing he hated more than anything in the world was undue attention. As long as he could make it to the standard room they had given him on site, he would be fine.

He would rip the fluorescent lights out of the ceiling and he would be fine. Damn the man who invented those horrid devices of optical torture, he thought.

Did he just hear Erik snicker? Damn. His thoughts were broadcasting. But that was the least of his problems. Soon he was dragging his feet and struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Damn martyr," Erik muttered.

The next thing that Charles knew, he was swept up into Erik's arms like he was a child's rag doll, as if he weighed nothing to the man.

"Erik, really-" he groaned.

"Shut up," the metal user hissed. "And don't tell me you don't have the migraine from hell because I can feel it."

"Sorry."

It was true. But what he had been projecting was only a portion of the agony he was feeling. He overtaxed himself and now he was feeling the consequences of his stupidity. And, from what it looked and sounded like, Erik wasn't going to take pity and let him off. Not that he minded at the moment. Being carried the rest of the way was an immense relief…and strangely comforting. When they reached his room Erik set him down on a couch in the small sitting room.

Charles made his movements slow but purposeful, leaning back into the comfort of the pillows and starting some breathing exercises. He could not afford to let his mask fall, not to the children and especially not to Erik. Sure, Erik suspected, but he hadn't seen. They needed a leader. They all needed someone who could be strong for them when they couldn't. It had only been yesterday that his current companion had been ready to desert them and what Charles had promised him in return for his help.

Calm was what he needed. Calm was what they both needed. And Erik sat next to him in a chair, tense and ready to burst with the tongue-lashing he knew he probably deserved.

A knock on the door disturbed their heavy silence. Erik rose to answer it and saw Raven at the door with a tray of food and some water. Wordlessly she took stock of Charles from the door, gave Erik a look that clearly said 'He deserves this,' and shoved the tray at the metal user before leaving. Charles winced at the sound of the door closing and also, more noticeably, at the sound of the tray being dropped onto the coffee table.

"How long…was I-"

"You were in there for six hours," Erik said.

"I didn't feel it…There was no time…It was all a…blur-a rush. God, I wish you could have seen it."

Erik was silent and retook his seat.

"What Raven said…about…a break-she wasn't?"

"She left, came back, and you were still in there."

Charles turned tired eyes towards the metal user and found a cold gaze meeting his. "I didn't know...And you?"

"Never left-when was the last time you ate?"

Food. The mere idea-"Oh…" he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Breakfast? No. No, last night-"

"Last _night?_"

Charles sighed. "...I know."

"Do you expect to defeat Shaw by sacrificing everything just to find him? Sacrifice will only get you so far. And finding him is just the start. If you're winded by the time you do, you're already _dead_. Whatever you felt in _that machine_, you're not God, Charles. If you were I'd take the liberty of killing you and saving us all the trouble because the last thing this world needs is another one."

"You mean you," Charles said with a weak smile.

Erik glared in response.

"I understand your concern, my friend…I have erred. Needless to…say, I will not endeavor…to repeat it."

"See that you don't. Now, eat." The tray scraped against the table in front of him.

The grimace on Charles' face preceded the admission of weakness he finally gave voice to. "I'm not certain I can…right now-"

"Then drink." A tall glass of water thunked down on the end table between them, close to where Charles was resting his head. "All of it."

Charles smirked. "Of all things…your bedside manner leaves much to be desired."

"As does your sense of self-preservation. Do us all a favor and find some before the end of this."

If Charles had the energy, he would have raised a serious eyebrow at that statement, coming from Erik of all people. Instead, he settled for an inquisitive glance, but Erik wouldn't look a him, staring at the far wall and thinking one thing loud and clear. _You are not invincible._

Ah, so Erik was allowed to take risks, but Charles wasn't. Progress, in the least, as far as his friend was concerned. But what Erik failed to understand was that sacrifice, sometimes, was needed. A necessary evil for the greater good. Even if it meant exploiting weaknesses now and again. The only harm that ever came out of it for Charles was the reminder that he was human as well as mutant. Being invincible had never crossed his mind.


	2. Of mind

**A/N:** _Um…DANGGGERANG Peoples! I had no idea this little thing would garner so much wonderful attention! First of all-THANK YOU, to everyone who favorited, alerted, and reviewed last chapter. I am flabbergasted, humbled, and encouraged at all the positivity. You all have me up in the wee hours of the morning just so I can get this update in for ya'll. I hope this lives up to the first chapter. As requested, the story continues ^^. Gets a little AU with the last scene, but just a tad. Do enjoy and Review! Let me know what you think! Your words are treasures to this wayward writer :)_

_Of mind…_

"I'm not sure I see the point of this."

"It's the general idea that you don't, Charles. Not yet."

His eyes burned with annoyance, but, somehow, the telepath maintained the passive demeanor that his friend often mocked of him. Just ignorance, Charles thought to himself, moving his pawn to force Erik's knight backwards. Best to pay it no mind because the important thing was that he was seeing progress in the other mutants. Just yesterday Alex had finally gained control over Hank's focusing aide. Sean's success on the satellite and Hank's in agility and speed were also badges of honor that bolstered his and Erik's hopes for the coming engagement-be what it may.

If Charles was honest, he wasn't sure what that conflict would bring, and he didn't even have an idea of what exact oppositions they would be facing, but as a team he was confident that they would overcome what they needed to. The incident at the CIA proved to have shaken the others up badly, himself included-though his worst fears had, selfishly, been for the safety of his sister. He could still remember the stifling fear that seemed to choke the life out of him until he saw her unharmed. He admitted it to no one, but the fact that Shaw had so easily broken through their defenses and almost completely ended them all that night frightened him.

In the children, confidence was broken, hopes were dashed, and trust was shattered. In him, it cemented determination. It was why Raven and the others sometimes complained about all the training Charles had them doing. The fact was that they were succeeding, against Shaw in small ways. And the bonding that was happening between them all at the manor seemed to be repairing those wounds. Hopefully, he thought, for all of them.

Erik ignored his knight, and instead, pushed his bishop forward.

Predictable.

And frustrating. Charles sighed and moved his queen aside. No answers. Not since he woke up this morning. It was one thing to kidnap him for the day and give the others an impromptu break. But it was something more when, hours into their excursion, Erik still refused to tell him why. Charles knew he had an ulterior motive, but out of respect he didn't pry. Perhaps the metal user was testing his patience, because he was certainly doing a good job of that. They could be back at the manor perfecting the children's abilities, merely knowing how to use them wouldn't be enough-wouldn't guarantee their safety.

Instead…Erik and he were in a busy park on a Sunday afternoon. Cars rolled by, children ran and screamed for their mothers, people passed by them, sitting on a bench seemingly focused on nothing other than their game. Erik wouldn't drag him out here for a simple game of chess, for a battle of wits, or a measure of intellect. That was Charles' prerogative. He was the one who did the pulling and pushing, albeit as subtle as he could, with Erik digging his toes into the ground most of the way. His friend was up to something.

"Erik, what are we doing here?"

Erik paused and glanced up. "Don't you know?"

Charles let the fingers of his propped arm on the bench brush the side of his head. "Are you inviting me in?"

"No. I'm telling you to stay out."

"Then, I'm asking."

Charles didn't care about the game anymore. After every move his friend looked up and catalogued his surroundings, as if he were trying to memorize the area or plan escape routes. The very idea made the telepath uneasy, despite his feelings about individual privacy. He wasn't sure if he wanted an answer, at first, so he had played along for as long as he felt comfortable. This being their third game did nothing for his suspicions.

"Your training," Erik said, nonchalantly, eyes averted to the board.

Charles did a double-take, his brow creasing in confusion. "My…what?"

"Can you tell me what the woman on the other side of the street is thinking?"

"Of course, but-"

"What about the man two blocks down?"

Charles turned to look, only to see if there was something there that Erik was specifically referring to. When there wasn't, he turned his wary eyes back, trying to work out where his friend was going. "You know I can-what's the point of all this?"

"You already know," Erik said. "The question is why you're suddenly so uncomfortable with it."

Charles narrowed his gaze and tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice. "What I'm not comfortable with is that there are people here. It's a Sunday afternoon-"

"Something you're afraid of?"

"Wh-…you-…"

Erik smirked and Charles glared. A wave of self-satisfaction washed over the telepath but he ignored it. This had been happening more and more recently and it did nothing to better his demeanor. His friend seemed to suddenly know the exact words to form, the right things to say to unsettle him, to rile him up. What was the point? To get a rise out of him? Charles had certainly thought so at first. But the only thing he could do was what seemed to bother his friend in the first place, to remain detached and calm about it, and try to let it go.

"What do you have planned?"

"How good's your memory?"

Charles quirked an eyebrow. "You're asking a telepath how good his memory is-"

"Remember this game."

Erik then wiped the board clean and stored the pieces and board back into their traveling state, though not without a sound of protest from Charles. He did hate to leave a game unfinished. Erik stood, with the set in his hand, tucked against his side.

"I want you to tell me how many moves until I would have had you."

"What's the catch," Charles asked.

"You'll have to find me first."

"Find you?"

"Give me half an hour's start, and when you do, you'll get this back." His friend waved the set for emphasis.

Charles' mind whirled with questions, but he kept silent as he calculated the possibilities and mulled over what his friend hoped to achieve.

"How do I know you won't just take the car and drive home with a good laugh?"

"You won't," Erik said. "Though that is an interesting option, Charles. Thank you for that."

Charles shook his head with a half-smile. "You seemed to have my hands tied. No other limitations?"

"Just time."

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes-"

"That's impossible-"

"Is it?-"

"It is if it takes you half an hour to get under your little rock."

"Maybe it will, maybe it won't."

He bit his teeth together in annoyance. The challenge seemed simple enough. The only issue Charles had was whether it was good enough for him. He had tested himself once and had been amazed at peeking in on a boy riding his bike over a hundred miles away. It was a vague impression with little clarity involved, but something that told him distance was not a problem. Focusing? Perhaps. But with Erik as the target? Certainly not much difficulty there. But Charles would play along. No sense in punishing the metal user for the lengths he must have gone to.

"Training?" he asked, with a twinge of doubt.

"Call it an exercise."

And with that Erik turned and started walking south, towards the street.

"In what precisely," Charles asked, calling out to the receding form of his friend.

But Erik never looked back. Charles waited the allotted time, choosing to do his breathing exercises as it passed. And when the thirty minutes were officially up, he had succeeded in returning to the normal level of calm that he needed to focus. He set off without much preamble in the general direction his friend had gone. It was difficult getting an exact bearing at first, with Erik's mind alone, so he resorted to searching memories of people who looked to have been on the streets for some time. The majority of those proved fruitless since most people were constantly on the move. But few gave him the brief reassurance that Erik had indeed passed by at one point.

Most of the way was littered by leaps of faith and trust that his feet would lead him in the correct direction. But once he was close enough to lock onto Erik's mind for certain, the rest of the way was easy. The problem had been sifting through the multitudes of others, picking him out among so many. Picking a random person might have been easier, but looking for a specific one in the mix proved to be a tad more difficult than he anticipated.

The telepath walked into the bank at the end of his trail and searched for his friend by the door. Once he caught sight of Erik, he looked at his watch and noted that he had thirty seconds left to spare. Not entirely perfect, but not altogether bad either. As he crossed the lobby to his friend he considered coming up with a witty remark to accompany his success, but ultimately decided against it. Although he had succeeded at the task he had achieved it with less than a minute to spare, knowing that he was likely capable of better under far worse circumstances. Being distracted by car horns and people walking their pets was no excuse. But if it were any consolation to his ego, the closer Charles got, the easier it was to pick up on Erik's feelings of surprise and disappointment. The man thought he could best him that easily, did he? Surely he didn't have anything else up his sleeve-but maybe that was wishful thinking.

Charles smiled as much as he dared without hurting his friend further. And just as he was about to open his mouth in greeting, he heard a man shout to his' right. His eyes shot to the source of the sound, because it had startled him. And he came face to face with a rough looking man holding up a gun and firing it into the air. Charles reacted on instinct upon hearing the sound, ducking his head and shoulders, backing away. But he stopped dead when the gun landed directly in line with him.

It took him less than a second to take a quick glance into the man's mind. And that split second proved his worst fear. He would be a victim of determination, made an example of in this criminal's greed and lust for control. It stole all the air in his chest as he watched the trigger begin to recede. Time slowed. And somewhere in his mind, something was screaming at him to move, to do something because he could in fact prevent this from happening-but the shock held him fast. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't known. He should have known-

And then he was on the ground with Erik above him, pressing him to the floor. He blinked and noticed the gun on the floor, across the spacious room. A few policemen had already recovered and had chased the man out the side door. Before they were gone, before any of the tellers could check on the condition of their patrons, and before Charles could get most of his bearings back, he was being pulled to his feet and out the front door he came in. He staggered for a few feet, unable to catch his breath until Erik pulled him between a barbershop and a small department store.

He leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to his chest while his bewildered friend looked around to make sure they hadn't been followed.

"You would-have…had me-in five moves," Charles gasped. "But I would have had you…in four."

"Are you alright?"

Was that concern he saw-God, his chest felt like it was on fire-"You…didn't plan-_that?_"

Genuine shock seemed to roll off his friend. "No-Are you alright?"

"I…will be. Just let me-catch my breath."

They lapsed into a tense silence for a few minutes. The only sounds were that of Charles and his ragged breathing evening out. Sirens wailed in the distance, but neither man paid them any attention.

"Well, that was-"

"Unexpected."

"Yes," Charles chuckled. "Quite. I'm a little disappointed you had no hand in it though-for my sake of course. You would have proved your point-"

Erik nodded stiffly and pulled them both into a comfortable and slow walk back to the car. Tension rolled off the metal user, and that served as a greater cause for Charles to get himself under stricter control, back to the passiveness that his friend was familiar with. Though, on second thought, that might not work entirely to his advantage.

"You don't think I could have stopped it?"

"Stopped what," Charles asked in a quiet voice. "Pulling the bloody thing out of his pocket-if you could do that then I think I ought to deck you a good one for making me sweat."

Erik laid a hand on the small of Charles' back as he leaned in to whisper his response. "No, if he had fired it. I could have stopped the bullet."

Charles scoffed, though he inwardly admitted that Erik's attempts at calming him were working.

"You don't. Well, one more thing to prove to you, _professor_."

It wasn't a matter of belief that made Charles hesitate when they returned. It was a matter of trust, of what Erik had been trying to teach him earlier with the chess set and what he had roughly woken up to with that unfortunate incident at the bank. What it boiled down to was that Charles Xavier didn't trust easily. And that was just as bad a detriment as trusting blindly was.

"You're sure," Charles asked with trepidation, already knowing the answer.

"I'm sure."

_Well, I'm not. _Where was the medium to this mess? To trusting and retaining his neutral insight on matters? Was there one? The cold weight of metal sent a tremor down his arm and straight to his spine. An overwhelming and decided feeling of wrongness.

"No," he breathed, somewhat in relief. He was glad he and Erik weren't much alike. Charles had his own strengths, but Erik rightfully had his own. Erik might have been able to do it, to have what was necessary to do the hard things when weaker men like Charles fell victim to fear and rationalization, but Charles didn't. He simply didn't have it in him. "No, I can't."

Erik shot him a look of disbelief, but Charles wouldn't relent. The gun felt better lying at his side. And it made looking at his friend easier.

"I'm sorry. I can't shoot anybody at point blank range, let alone a friend."

Erik frowned. "You mean me?"

_Especially you_, Charles thought to himself_. I think it's time to return the favor..._


	3. Of perspective

**A/N:** _Sorry that I didn't have the time to respond to all your lovely reviews individually, but in the essence of saving time I decided to put my bazillion thanks up here to everyone who continues to read, review, support, alert and favorite this little experiment of mine. To all my reviewers thus far-your lovely and thoughtful words continue to encourage me with this thing, so thank you. They are MUCH appreciated ^^. I don't want to give this chapter away, but here's the one chapter I think a few of you may have been waiting for. Beginning is a little dark, but lightens up at the end. I'm a little anxious to know what you all think, so enjoy and don't forget to review!_

_Of perspective…_

"I'm going to count to three."

It was cold. Charles could see his breath in front of him as he stood in the dark. His eyes darted all around to look for a way out, for a way forward, for somewhere to go. But he was lost. That voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. And it left him with a strange feeling of being laid bare, that every move he made was being watched and measured. Worse yet was the realization that he knew the owner of that voice.

His immediate fears were for the others. This didn't feel like any of his normal dreams. But how could Shaw have infiltrated his mind-Charles would have known at the slightest push or touch…A sickly sterile smell hit his nose. He searched his memories and came to the conclusion that he had no memory of that smell-it could be a projection, designed to frighten. There was certainly enough pent up and trapped fear roiling in his chest…

Oh.

"Erik," he breathed.

This wasn't his mind. This wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare and it wasn't his.

For the moment he ignored the how and why, choosing instead to focus on the who in question. He called out, but found his voice just as quiet as before. Whatever was frightening his friend was strong enough to stifle the brunt of Charles' influence while he slept. But if he woke up and tried to focus, there was no telling if he would be able to get back in, no guarantee that he could wake his friend before the worst was over. And going by what he was feeling now, he dreaded the thought that the worst had yet to hit them both.

So he ran. He ran for ages. Through mire. Through people and places either long dead or non-existent anymore. Through and past the darkest of Erik's memories that were slowly but surely coming to life. Charles ran until he heard voices, until he finally laid eyes on his friend. But what he saw quickly quashed any relief he felt at finding him.

Erik looked genuinely terrified. He was on his knees, staring up as if the world had just ended. It confused and shocked Charles to see his friend so degraded and defeated, so much that he wanted to go to him but found he couldn't. An invisible barrier held him back, allowed him to hear but not to interfere. The telepath pushed against it, but found it to be quite strong. He briefly worried what the consequences would be to Erik's mind if he seriously tried to test its durability, so he backed off for now.

"Erik," he called. But no sound came from his mouth.

Charles turned to look at what his friend was staring so hopelessly at…and stopped short. Shaw was there, pointing a gun at a beaten man on his knees, held down by two faceless guards. Bruised and bloody, staring blankly at his friend, nearly dead, was himself.

The sight rendered him speechless, beyond the point of wondering at a real looking copy of himself.

"Take the gun from my hand and he lives," Shaw said. "I'm going to count to three."

The sound of the gun being cocked stirred something in his friend, made Erik try to raise his arm. With what looked like Herculean effort, he reached, unable to move the rest of his body. But nothing was happening.

"One…"

This was a nightmare. Erik's nightmare. And Charles had a pretty good idea how it was going to play out. The fact alone made his stomach feel like a lead weight.

"Erik-Erik," Charles called. "Listen to me, it's not real. It's a dream-You must wake up!"

In vain. All of it, in vain. But Erik still reached, still tried to concentrate for the sake of the Charles Xavier he was seeing. Charles tried pushing against the barrier, but still found it steadfast, even as he felt his friend's emotional state deteriorate further.

"Erik," the broken Charles, rasped. "Help…me-"

Shaw pushed the barrel of the gun against the copy's forehead, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. "Two…"

"No-no-I'm right here," the real Charles shouted, pounding and pushing with all his might on the invisible barrier. "Look at me, Erik-look at me!"

He could spare his friend this pain. He should be able to and yet he wasn't strong enough to get through. He didn't dare leave Erik now, but Charles was getting desperate enough to cause his friend some brief pain just to keep him from this added emotional fallout. After all, this _was_ his fault. He should have known bringing up memories of his mother, even good ones, would eventually give rise to the bad. And he had seen that memory only in passing, in too brief a time to feel the extent of his friend's anguish and pain then.

"Charles," Erik moaned in despair. His outstretched arm shook under the strain. And the gun had yet to move from Shaw's hand.

He couldn't let this happen. This was his fault-his fault that he couldn't save his friend, his- "It's not real-that's not me-I'm here!"

The broken Charles coughed, facing his fate with resignation. "…be…alright, m'friend-everything…will be-"

The ethereal form of their adversary sighed, almost in disappointment.

"SHAW," Erik roared in warning.

The two Charles watched, one accepting, the other overcome with failure.

"…Three."

One shot. Loud. More like an echoing crack than an explosion-or was that the other way around? Not for Charles. For Erik who was screaming, breaking Charles' heart more with every passing second. There was no time to dwell on the dead and bleeding corpse of himself, because the dream started to collapse into a torrent of suffocating negativity. Charles pushed against the boundary again and found it bend under his efforts. He didn't hesitate this time.

The telepath took his friend's brief and sharp pain to heart, but pushed forward only to end his friend's suffering as soon as possible. He grabbed Erik's face with both his hands and forced his face to meet his.

_Wake up! Erik, you need to wake up-NOW!_ And, as if it never happened in the first place, the nightmare ended with a deafening rush.

Charles woke gasping for air. In the darkness of his room he stumbled across his bed and out of the tangled damp sheets. Throwing on his night robe had been an afterthought. His heart was still racing. He could still feel the cold sweat that broke out all over. But, more importantly, he could still feel the crippling fear and agony, albeit to a lesser degree now that he knew Erik was awake.

When he rounded the dark corner in the hall he saw Raven and Hank, both in their nightclothes, standing by Erik's door.

"I'll take it from here, you two." He wanted to cringe at the sound of his own voice, but for Raven's sake he ignored it.

"Is he alright," Raven asked. "He won't answer. We heard him-"

"It's nothing to worry about. Go on back to bed-where are the boys?"

Hank frowned. "They sleep like rocks. It'll be hell getting them up tomorrow-"

"I imagine it will. Off you go-"

"Are _you_ okay?" Raven asked.

Charles paused, but only to clear his throat. "I'm fine."

Raven gave him a withering look, but eventually sighed and walked away. Charles knew he would be hearing it from her in the morning, but that was the last thing on his mind now. Once he was sure everyone was back in bed where they were supposed to be, he turned his attention to the door. He knocked, but received no reply.

_You know I'm not going anywhere, Erik. Please, let me in so we can talk privately._

A second later the door was abruptly pulled open, a fist ensnared his robe, and Charles was yanked forward into the dimly lit room. Behind him the door slammed shut. The telepath turned and faced the subject of his present worries. Erik looked worse than Charles imagined. Guilt for causing his friend this pain rushed forward, slapping him in the face with this new memory-one he never wanted in the first place. And it was doing serious, if not permanent damage, to his desire to remain the strong one of the two of them.

"Your face is wet," Erik said in a rough voice.

Shocked, and suddenly feeling very self-conscious, Charles lifted a hand and wiped at his cheek. It was indeed wet, as if he had been crying for hours. "So it is," he said, quieter than he intended. When he looked up, Erik had turned his back.

"How much did you see?"

"Nearly all of it, I'm afraid." He opened his mouth to give voice to his horrible feelings of regret and offer the apology that Erik deserved-but he stopped, noting that his friend was trembling with fear and not rage. "Erik," he said, gently.

His friend turned, but only to gain a peripheral sight of the telepath. Too make sure I'm still here, Charles realized. He didn't want to reach out, but he also couldn't leave Erik like this either.

_Come, prove to yourself that this isn't a dream. I don't mind._

Erik turned and made eye contact, then cautiously stepped forward, as if he feared Charles would suddenly disappear. Then his friend reached a hand forward and touched the other cheek of his face that was still wet. Keeping eye and mental contact, Charles leaned into the touch.

_I don't take to death that easily, my dear friend. _

Erik managed a weak smile and Charles noted, to his satisfaction, that that quelled the worst of the shaking in his friend's hand. Before the metal user took his hand away he wiped the last traces of Charles' tears, giving the professor a brief lapse in his own emotional torment-one that he felt he did not deserve.

"My friend," Charles said, pushing through the tightness in his throat. "I owe you so much more than an apology-"

"You pulled me out."

Charles swallowed. "…I did."

"That's good enough for me."

"What-I don't…I should have warned you of the consequences," Charles pleaded.

"You gave me what I didn't know I still had. It was a gift, one that I still treasure. If this is what I have to take in exchange, I will take it a thousand times over. You did me a favor, Charles. You'll do me another if you lose the misplaced guilt."

That was more than Charles could have asked for. Part of him felt he didn't deserve it, but the fact that Erik wasn't hurting as badly as Charles feared helped deflate his morose mood a little.

"Tea," he asked, hesitant. "Or perhaps something stronger?"

"Stronger for sure," Erik said.

The two men stood at a window in the darkened library, both with glasses of amber scotch in their hands. The tension began to ebb away, even in the thick silence between the both of them. And Charles was happy for it, that he was able to bring his friend some solace after that horrible incident. It wasn't fully gone, but the telepath vowed to himself to destroy it before the sun rose tomorrow. He would not compromise Erik's progress, not for the world.

"Our minds can conjure many things," Charles said, looking up into the starry night. "For greater good, for our own purposes. But what continues to amaze me is our capacity for the things that hinder us, cripple us at times."

Erik spared him a sidelong glance before taking another drink. "What's your point?"

"One's greatest enemy is always oneself, no other. I'd wager no one ever has mastered himself, but if someone did, he will have conquered life itself. It would serve him instead. Everyone has that capability, my friend. But few of us have the courage to seek it out."

Erik scoffed, "You think I do? I think I just disproved your theory about me."

Charles turned. "Give it time, and I honestly believe you will."

"We don't have anymore time-"

"Listen to me. Shaw only has power over you in your mind, and only because you let him. Do not let yourself stumble at limitations. Just remember what you accomplished today and you'll do fine."

Erik swallowed the rest of his scotch in a gulp and set the tumbler down. "I won't get much sleep the rest of the night-"

_Set on shooing me away is he_, Charles thought to himself. "Neither will I," he decided. "Honestly, I won't. I don't even know how I fell asleep in the first place."

But that didn't lighten the mood for the metal user. He stared at his feet, clenching his jaw shut

"We could meet our end tomorrow, Charles," he whispered.

The telepath nodded, slowly, not understanding. "I know."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"I know it doesn't you."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't?"

"Does it?"

"Maybe," his friend muttered.

Charles finished his drink and set the glass aside. "Erik, why did you associate me with your mother in the dream?"

Erik turned and landed a strong gaze on Charles. "Why was your mind in my head?"

Charles looked away, almost sorry he asked. "We…shared in your memory earlier-it could have formed a bond between us, a link-"

"Did it?"

"I don't know."

"Afraid to look?"

Charles narrowed his eyes in response.

"Or are you afraid to find nothing there?"

"What are you trying to tell me?"

His friend ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration, staring out into the night. There was a lengthy pause, but Charles stayed because he knew Erik wanted him to. Then, without warning, Erik turned and pushed him against the wall, leaning his hands on either side of him. Charles' eyes widened at the aggressive turn, but he didn't say a word. He also didn't probe for a reason why because the metal user looked as if he wanted to burst with the knowledge of something Charles didn't have.

"You sure you want your answer?"

Erik's eyes burned with something, something akin to anger, Charles initially thought. Was he going to hit him? He certainly felt like he deserved it after tonight. If he was honest with himself, it would probably make him feel better. And if it was what Erik needed…"Yes," Charles whispered, unsure of his answer.

A pointed look, now-with less anger. "You could just look."

Charles had already clenched his jaw in anticipation, and was surprised to find that maybe he was wrong, but wrong about what? "Do you want me to?"

His friend considered the request for a moment, before finally giving Charles his answer. "No. I don't."

Erik leaned forward, slowly at first-sensing Charles' unease-but quickly at the end when he pressed their lips together with soft introduction. Charles froze in surprise, his mind blank for the first time in his life. All that filled it was the sensation of what Erik was making him feel…and do. Because the next thing he knew, he was kissing him back, movements slow and cautious, painfully unsure. And then Erik pulled away, resting his nose and forehead against Charles', waiting for a reaction.

"Oh," was all Charles could come up with. Just as before, earlier in the night, but this time with an entirely different kind of feeling, his heart was racing. There wasn't a single thought that passed through his head. Everything was blissfully quiet…laced with something building in his chest, something good.

It didn't take a genius or a telepath to put two and two together. So, this time, Charles leaned forward and kissed Erik, trying to ignore the little voice in his head telling him he didn't know what he was doing, since he had never done this before. And silencing that voice was damned easy at the moment.

Erik responded in kind the second time, effectively pinning Charles to the wall and attacking his lips with confidence and everything that had been pent up in him since he woke. The sounds of their rushed exhalations of breath and disarrangement of clothing seemed loud enough to attract anyone passing by the doorway, but neither cared. When their lips parted for the first time, the game changed. Charles found that he had to grab a hold of something to keep his knees from falling out from under him. And that something ended up being the back of Erik's neck.

Maybe Charles had sent something to Erik with his abilities, or maybe the man was more attuned to these kind of things through his own experiences, but he suddenly found a hand on the small of his back-near where it had been yesterday. And the new contact wrenched free a moan that had been begging to be set loose ever since this thing began. Charles felt a flash of embarrassment for letting that happen, but quickly learned that his friend wasn't opposed to it. In fact, Erik pulled their lips apart and let Charles hear one of his own as he trailed kisses along the professor's jaw.

As he gasped for air, a rush of fear hit him full force in the chest. Did he know what he was doing? No. He had never considered this, never been this open minded before. Not about this, at any rate. What had changed? When had it changed? This wasn't wrong, not when it felt so good, so right. So why did he feel like he needed to stop this? Ah, yes…_that _would be why.

Damn his morals. And damn Shaw. If only they weren't heading into the lion's den tomorrow. Maybe if the circumstances had been different he couldn't have minded how fast things had been going. No…that was a lie, he would have stopped this in either case, just to give himself time to think. Always to think. Never to just do as he had been doing.

"Erik," he choked out. "Wait."

Erik stopped and started to pull back. "Did I-"

"No-no." Charles grabbed hold of him before he could go anywhere, pulling him back against his body. "It's…this is just…new. I've never-"

"Been with a man," Erik whispered in his ear.

Charles felt himself blush from head to toe at his inexperience. _…Yes._

"Ah."

"But I certainly didn't-mind it-"

Erik smirked and pressed a kiss to the spot just below his ear. "I could tell. But…we can take things slow if you want."

"I'd appreciate that," Charles said, relieved. "Consider it incentive that we both live to see the end of tomorrow."

Erik sighed, putting his friend immediately on alert. "Charles-"

"I'm serious, Erik." _Bloody dead serious now_, he thought to himself.

Erik laughed as he leaned in again. "So protective."

"Don't get me started on you-"

"Shut up," Erik said, before joining their lips in another languid dance, one that lasted well into the night, making them forget for a little while that things would have to be different in the morning.


	4. Of duty

**A/N:** _Okay, you'll probably all hate me for this chapter, but this plays very much into the last one. Sooo, don't kill me YET. I've been debating recently on whether or not to continue with the canon idea I had, or to deviate and write an AU story, but I think I've decided to keep to my original idea…with the promise that this will not be my last Charles/Erik fic. So, once again, major thanks to all my new and returning readers/reviewers. Here's the second to last installment in this story. I blame work for my tardiness. Please don't forget to review!_

_Of duty…_

He knows instantly that this is the nightmare he cannot wake himself from. For the first few months he experienced it nightly. Then it tapered off, flaring up whenever he thought of how things could have, and should have, happened differently.

He is lying on sand. On a beach. The waves crash at his feet, rushing to meet his toes, his ankles, knees, even his chest after some time. And he can feel. He can smell. He can see. He can even taste the salt in the air. But he cannot move. Not even to lift his head and see the waves his mind conjures.

He stares at the clear blue sky. Nearly cloudless. The wind blows, ruffles, and rearranges his hair. A skittish sand crab crawls over his foot and disappears. He tries to call out, to speak, to make any sound at all…and he fails. He fails over and over and over. Countless times. An eternity passes. And nothing changes, no matter how hard he tries. Nothing changes except the new wetness on his face. He wonders if he will drown here…then realizes he already has and is.

He is a prisoner inside his own body.

Charles wakes with a loud gasp, and shoots up from the mattress out of instinct. He fights the urge to cry out, to move and reassure himself that it was a dream-that he is still only paralyzed from the waist down. Clenching his fists and falling back on his breathing exercises for comfort are the only things that can calm him down. Sometimes it passes within a few seconds, other times it doesn't pass til morning-after he's kept himself awake for the rest of the night. Tonight, he's unsure if it ever will.

The pain and sheer terror of the reality of the dream, of the possibility, is just too much. Charles falls back onto the pillow and tries not to cry, even grabs at his hair-causing himself the smallest amount of pain to prevent it. But the sobs have already found a home, rooted themselves deep to ensure that his grief does surface. And it starts with one, choked and quiet. The rest follow, fall into place like a broken symphony that's never finished.

He hates Erik for only one reason. And that reason is his absence, that his friend is not here to comfort him, challenge him, mock him in these moments of weakness that he won't allow others to see. That, surely, would put an end to this irrational madness. Just his presence. Not even here. Elsewhere. To just feel his existence, the familiar walls of his mind, would be enough.

…wouldn't it?

He scrubs his face dry with his hand before pulling himself up and onto the wheelchair by the side of his bed. And he ignores the phantom aches and pains in his back and legs-tells his mind to stop torturing him with truths that he's known since that day. The lights are kept off. Another damp washcloth rests in his hand, now used and useless. But it's still cool against the hot skin, lying prone and limp-much like how he feels at the moment, while he remembers.

Again.

* * *

><p>"Charles," Erik calls across the hangar. "A word?"<p>

"One moment, Hank," he says, turning from the steps and following his friend around the tail end where no one can watch or overhear them.

Erik turns his back and crosses his arms, creating an impressive shadow against the light of day outside. Outwardly he looks like the impending statue of a god, stiff and tall, but Charles knows better, knows his friend better.

"What is it?" he asks, because he is truly curious as to why Erik isn't leaping onto the craft and demanding its immediate takeoff.

His friend whispers his response. "Can't you tell?"

Charles takes that for the invitation it is and gently probes around the surface of the metal user's mind. Among all the emotions he feels, there's one thats louder than the rest, one that shocks the telepath for a split-second, before he has time to understand it's source. Fear. And when he thinks on it, a memory comes up. It is a memory of water, coldness, and desperation. Instantly, the insecurity becomes a little clearer.

"Remember what we talked about last night?"

Erik smirked, turning his head to eye the telepath. "I don't recall much talking."

Charles smiled, but kept his voice low. "Nevertheless, what I said was true. This will end. Today."

Erik sighed and closed his eyes. "You know how long I've waited for this."

"Yes."

"It doesn't seem real. I've hunted him for years and somehow he has _always _managed to get away."

Charles takes a step forward and lays a hand on his friend's shoulder. It earns him direct eye contact, which he doesn't break. "You're not alone this time, my friend." Then he leans in closer with a smoldering resolve that Erik needs to hear. "No longer."

The corners of Erik's lips twitched up, and he decidedly moved forward, turning and intending to close every distance between them, one final time before the coming battle. And though it may not have been the right place for it, Charles allowed it because he wanted this too, because in the back of his mind lay some doubts. But they were interrupted.

"Hey," Alex shouted, poking his head out of the doorway. "We gonna catch this asshole or not?"

Charles turned aside, his back to Alex and the ship, while Erik took a step back-both out of instinct. "Of course we are," Charles said, forcing the disappointment down. Once it was safely locked away, he turned around. "Tell the others to get strapped in. We leave now."

Erik followed, closely behind, making Charles think he was going to finish what they started, but when they reached the door, stepped up, in, and strapped themselves down with the others, the telepath accepted that they wouldn't. The ride was a long one, and the more time that passed the more regret built in his body, almost making his fingers twitch in want. So, he did the next best thing, and sent an innocent little thought along. Erik's head whipped around and Charles couldn't help but smile. Then Hank made the announcement from the cockpit. This time, they were interrupted by a looming war.

* * *

><p>Agony. If there were ever one word to describe, to encompass, that entire day, it would have been agony. Nothing hurt worse than the initial impact, not Erik shutting him out of his mind, not the pain of being made to feel another man's death, not even the punches thrown in desperation. Until this point it hadn't hit Charles how much he lost in so little time. And in that one second, that split second it took to take away the feeling in half his body, he understood it all.<p>

He is face down in the sand. He is shaking from the pain, from the ache of loss and the shock. Things are happening around him but all he can hear is the rush of the ocean, of the waves that he wants to swallow him whole for the things he can't help but feel. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Want. And all of this he needs to direct somewhere else, away from himself so he can regain control, before he loses his grip on it for good. And his subconscious makes the choice for him, tells him that he should and does blame his friend for all of this.

He weeps inside, clawing for a different truth in himself, but he doesn't have the strength to, not for this, and not right now. Instead he grasps for what little power he has left and hides it. Charles hides as much of it as he can, even when he gets the one thing he wants most-when he gets Erik, when his friend picks him up, holds him, and doesn't let go. And it is a relief that he doesn't have to worry about his thoughts, about Erik picking up on the torrent in his head. But, in some sick and twisted way, he does want his friend to hear what he's thinking, to feel what he's feeling. He wants the man to know how much he's hurting and that damned helmet is like a repulsive second skin to the man now, a security blanket for something he never needed to be afraid of in the first place.

_He doesn't deserve this_, Charles thinks to himself. _He doesn't deserve me. Look at what I've done, silenced one monster only to create another._

"You did this," Erik snarled, reaching out to strangle Moira with her own necklace.

Charles is invisible again. And at first it doesn't feel as bad as it should. But he doesn't stay silent when he knows he can do something, when he knows where the rightful blame must be placed. Although it burns him on the inside to admit it, to speak it aloud, he does because it's cold hard truth that he has never had a good relationship with. It has never left him alone, and now, there's no hope it ever will.

"No Erik," Charles gasps. "You did."

He had been hopeful, that what he said might inspire some small turnaround, if anything. But Erik's words push his furiously beating heart further down, down into the depths of a no returning realization. And then Charles hears the worst thing he thinks he will ever hear in his lifetime. "We want the same thing."

* * *

><p>He doesn't have the strength anymore. He has nothing. Erik proved that to him with five words that day. Five words that would, no doubt, haunt him for the rest of his life, because they already were. He had failed in many ways before, but never like he had with him. Everything had unraveled before his eyes, made the things they shared and the time they spent seem cheapened or false. It made him feel incredibly naïve for thinking that he could actually help Erik, save him in a week's time after years of rooted hungering need for revenge.<p>

He had been made and broken in such a short amount of time with him, but Charles couldn't bring himself to regret any of it.

The washcloth dropped to the bathroom floor and is abandoned. Charles returns to bed, hauls himself under the covers and closes his exhausted eyes. He wants to sleep it away this time. He would rather have the nightmares than this reality to wake up to. Facing his colleagues, his friends on a daily basis as if nothing's wrong, as if everything's perfectly fine is wearing him thin. He feels it. And he knows they see it. But they don't know what to do. The truth is that Charles doesn't quite know the answer either. He simply waits and hopes that one day this pain will pass, that he will forget about what he could have had. But he doesn't.

Because he dreams about it every night.

* * *

><p>He is on the beach again. But this time he is lying face down, head turned to face someone beside him. His body aches in a good way, as if he just got done running for miles. And it feels good. Lying here feels good. It feels good because he's not alone. Because Erik is lying beside him, sleeping.<p>

Charles doesn't have the heart to wake him. Just being here, seeing him is enough. The sky darkens, but he pays it no heed. Memories pass through him like sights on a train, all silent, all of times he wishes he had the power to go back to, to relive, to do over. Erik eventually wakes and turns to face Charles.

"Why are you lying there," Erik asks, as if it's the most normal thing to ask in the world, as easy as asking about the weather.

"I can't move," he says, honestly. "Not without you."

Erik turns his body towards him. "You _can_ move-and without my help."

Charles allows himself a small smile. "Not the way I want to."

"Charles. This is a dream. Your dream. This isn't what you really want."

Damn his subconscious. "For now, it's all I need."

"It's not the same."

"Close enough."

"I'm not going to make this easy."

Charles laughs, just a little. "I know."

"Your problems won't go hiding at the sight of me."

"I know." He reaches forward with a heavy hand and lays it on Erik's cheek. "Just…give me this one bit of peace, this little lapse where nothing else matters."

"Relive a memory."

"Not right now. Right now all I want is you. Even if you're not real."

Erik wraps his arms around Charles and pulls him onto his chest. _Finally_, he thinks, settling into familiar warmth. But, was knowing its falseness worth the feeling? In essence he was comforting himself with a mix of memory and imagination. Did that make him weak? Mad? Beyond hope that he would regain some sense of normalcy in his life?

"Not so easy," Erik whispers in his ear. "Is it?"

Charles says nothing, but grips tighter at the shade that's holding him. It's not a person, not matter how much he wants it to be. Charles has always been a logical person, someone who puts faith and hope in facts, in truth, in reality. And here he is, clinging to a false truth, just like Erik had done the day his fears found firm ground about humanity.

"You didn't listen to me," Charles hears himself say.

It's Erik's turn to stay silent, because Charles doesn't know what he wants to hear, if anything at all in return. All he wants is to stop feeling the guilt and horrible things that cripple him each and every day, while he's doing the most normal of things too. Here is the only place he can give voice to the selfish things he's thinking and feeling. It's the only place where he won't be punished or criticized for being human, for erring, for not being the perfect man he wants to be.

"Why?" Erik asks. It's a simple request, but one that surprises him, jerks him awake from the self-deprecation and loathsome trail of thoughts that always led to the places he doesn't want to go.

"Because I need you and you're not here. Now, quiet." Quiet is what he wants. It's all he's wanted since that day. And even in his own mind, he won't allow himself to have that.

"I could be. I could be here, if you wanted me to."

"No," he says, loud and clear. _That_ he will never do, never allow. Never again. "This is enough."

"I'm a facsimile-"

"All the better," Charles whispers with a grimace. "I can't hurt you this way."

"You mean _I_ can't hurt you."

Charles sighs and relents. "Maybe it's a little of both."

"You know it is. And yet…you still want me here. With you."

Is it possible to shed tears in a dream? Feel the anguish you normally feel when you're awake? Charles knows the answer. And the answer is, unfortunately, yes. For him, at least. "I will always want that, Erik."


	5. Of hope

**A/N:** _Last one, kiddies! Thank you all for making this such a wonderful experience for me. Since this is the last installment, I've made it a wee bit longer for you all. Twice as long, God help me. So that's why it took me longer than I thought it would take to finish it. I am so thankful and appreciative of all the lovely encouraging words you left and the support in alerts and favoritings. I just hope this last chapter lived up to the rest of the fic and your hopes as well._

_This time, blame your two characters for making me late. They would not shut up, even when threatened with the editing monster. ALSO Just a little side note that when it comes to familiar dialogue at the end, obviously that was not created by me. Don't own it. Wish I did. But I think it's one of the most interesting scenes from that particular movie to think about. And I just plain couldn't help myself. Please read, enjoy, and review! Twas a pleasure!_

_Of hope..._

**One Year Later**

It had taken some time to get things started, to make his dream more than just a dream. There were snags at every end of the line where progress made him get his hopes up, but his determination saw him through. It had produced results, never led him astray…just once. And once was enough for him to be more cautious this time around, to take the time he needed to make sure things would be done right, and the way he wanted.

The school was close to opening its doors. The renovations had been finished for a few weeks. All but a few of the people he had in mind accepted the teaching positions he offered. And he had a handsome roster of first years…rather, a first generation of mutants that would know what it was like to feel normal and be among others like themselves.

_Raven would be proud_, he thought, wistfully smiling as he remembered better times, back when they were happy and carefree. Laughing seemed so easy then, as if no trouble in the world could dampen their spirits. That seemed so long ago…

But Charles would be the first to call himself a fool if he didn't know that things never stayed that simple. The best he could do, now-perhaps in contrition for his own mistakes-was to offer others the things he couldn't and didn't before. The events in Cuba changed more than his physical faculties. He was no longer much of the young and naïve person he used to be. He looked more to the future, to his own future in particular, and found that he could never live with himself if he died tomorrow with dreams and aspirations unrealized. It went against everything he was, everything he used to be and stand for.

This was a responsibility he had to himself, and to the world of his kind, even if he couldn't have some of the normal comforts and experiences they could. He had always wondered what it would be like to have a proper family, his own children, his little copies milling about, arguing, running, learning, laughing. Hearing those sounds of innocence, of a lost treasure that had fallen out of his pocket somewhere along the way to maturity, brought him peace and youth again at the mere thought. And oh, how he dearly needed that this past year.

_Well_, he thought. _This will be the next best thing._

A grandfather clock chimed the late hour, making him sigh in exhaustion. The endless pile of paperwork had given him yet another headache, but tonight he was happy to push a much smaller pile of it away to be dealt with tomorrow. Who knew how much work starting a school entailed? Many nights he went to bed wondering whether he had gotten in over his head, but every morning he woke up remembering all the hurdles he'd gotten through since the start of this. And that was one of the things that kept him going.

Charles rolled his shoulders and adjusted the folded shirtsleeves at his elbows. Not for the first time that day did he ask himself why he thought wearing a vest and long-sleeved shirt around the house was a good idea, even for appearance's sake. Replacing the air conditioner in late August was not one of his brighter ideas in this little endeavor. And, needless to say, he would not be repeating it if future summers were going to be as oppressive as this one was.

As he wheeled himself out of his office, he regretted not taking a break to open the windows of his bedroom. The night was cooling things down a bit, but not fast enough for his liking. One thing to be happy about, however, was that summer was nearing its end. Soon the leaves of the estate would turn and the air would grow colder, much more tolerable. Being able to dress properly and without much discomfort was something else he was looking forward to. That and a nice cool bath for the present.

The first thing he noticed, after he had closed the door of his bedroom, was the temperature. It was already cool. The second thing he noticed was that the window by the sitting area was open. The curtains weren't much disturbed by the soft wind. But Charles was, because he hadn't opened that window, nor had he left it open since this morning. So he scanned the room without turning his head to look, and came back with nothing, initially.

The third thing he noticed shocked him more than frightened him. His chess set was out, set up for the start of a game. He wheeled himself closer to it, to prove to himself that it was real, and found that it was. The surface of the pawn felt smooth and its weight the same. For a moment he had nearly been overcome, because he hadn't touched this set in over a year, not even dared look upon it for fear of remembering. And he had been right to keep it out of sight. Now, the memories were all he could see, hear, and feel.

Strangers.

Friends.

Dear friends.

More than friends.

…enemies.

He had to close his eyes at the sudden onslaught. He hadn't been ready. He didn't know when he would have been. But the moment they closed they were ripped back open at the sound of four syllables, directly behind him.

"Hello, Charles."

He whipped his upper body around and swung his head to view the speaker of that voice. There, in the darkness, Erik stood, dressed as simply as he used to be, back when they first met. In his hands was the helmet that had obscured his presence, made him into the man Charles didn't know and didn't want to know. His mind reached out on instinct, and shot back, as if burned, to find that he wasn't imagining this. The Erik that stood before him now was…dare he believe it?

The pawn clattered as it fell onto the board and rolled to the floor. Charles didn't move, not even when Erik slowly crossed the room, placing the helmet on a side table, kneeling by his side to right the missing piece, and staying there after the task was done. His eyes were asking and waiting, receiving no answer in return. In truth, Charles didn't know how to answer, didn't know if he could. His throat was continually dry, his jaw clenched shut, and the fingers of his right hand wrapped too tightly around the arm of his wheelchair. He couldn't speak, much less think of what to say.

The silence stretched on, too long for the other occupant of the room to think of any positive outcome. So he dropped his gaze and sighed in defeat. This Erik looked so incredibly sad for a split-second. And with a startling realization, the telepath remembered that he could not ever recollect seeing Erik look that way before. As quick as it had come, it was gone, and so would this body be when it rose.

"I'll leave-"

Charles snatched Erik's arm and gripped it hard, making those eyes come back to his. "You're really here," he whispered. "Old friend?"

Erik paused and took a cautious breath. "Only if you want me to be."

"Of c-…what-how did you…"

"Wasn't that hard of a guess."

"I…I suppose you're right about that," he relented. Inwardly he chastised himself for being so inarticulate, but that was probably due to the shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Care for a game? "

Charles felt his brows crease in confusion. "A game?"

"You haven't played in a while. I think I stand a fair chance at beating you this time."

A small laugh flew loose. Out of nervousness, no doubt, but welcome regardless. He had his proof when he saw the corner of Erik's mouth twitch upwards. Charles may still be completely thrown-because he never expected Erik to come looking for him, not after the things they said, not after what had happened-but he wouldn't let that shock and confusion keep hold of him. So, he did what was familiar. He pushed the trembles down, wiped his face passive and clean, and softened his gaze into indifference.

His old friend came here as who Charles remembered, at least in guise. The least he could do was return the favor, even if it was an act. Sitting opposite Erik was easy. Strategizing was too. But focusing on the game, instead of the man in front of him, was the difficult part. Erik had changed since they last played this game. He sat straighter, more sure of himself. His eyes showed a cool calmness instead of the hot searching turmoil that Charles was used to. It soothed his worst worries and incited his utmost caution, because-though he certainly didn't mind it-he still didn't know why this was happening.

Erik isn't here for forgiveness. He isn't here offering anything-nothing but a game, a memory of what they used to have. He doesn't comment on Charles' condition, doesn't acknowledge the wheelchair for what it is. And Charles wonders why. Is it possible he doesn't even see it? But how can someone, a dear and old friend at that, not? Charles is tempted to find the answers he knows are just beneath the surface of his friend's mind, but he restrains himself, respects Erik's privacy. For now.

"You've been busy," Erik says, looking up from the board for the first time.

"I have," Charles admits, looking back down.

"And you look horrible."

Charles smiled. "With the school opening in a few weeks, I'm sure you could understand why."

Erik makes a noise of acknowledgement in response, then reaches forward to capture a pawn. "You do realize that this place won't be a safe haven forever."

Charles quirks an eyebrow and stills, thinking over what his friend's motive in this might be. Maybe Charles wants to believe the school will be. Maybe he can't believe it won't be. But why it mattered to Erik…

"It's my hope," Charles says, slow and calculating. "That whoever passes through these halls will be able to face their greatest adversary without fear, like Alex and Sean-"

"Like you helped me?"

Charles can't help but flinch, even in the slightest. He doesn't mourn the loss of his smokescreen. He doesn't care that he's inadvertently shown his hand in how he really feels, because he's wanted Erik to know for a long time. So he says nothing.

"A training academy, then," Erik asks, interest laced as an undertone.

And Charles is quick to see it for what it is. "No, a school."

Erik stalls his move, forgets their game like Charles has a while ago. "Still think there isn't a war coming? That we haven't started anything?"

"I won't be raising an army here. There's no need for one, not with proper education and guidance-"

Erik smiled. "That's exactly what you're doing, Charles. You'll teach them how to use their powers, how to think for themselves, how to survive in a world that's too scared to accept us for what we are. Sounds like recruitment and soldiering to me. But not that I blame you-"

"Their real enemy isn't out there in the real world, Erik. It's inside. It starts with us. The anger, the prejudice-"

"_Those_ are out there already," Erik growled, leaning forward. "You can preach as much acceptance and respect as you see fit but it won't change the opinions of those who fired on us in Cuba. You can't change the world's opinion of us with one school."

Charles sighs, but keeps himself perfectly in control for this. "Not in a day, no. It will take time, but there will be a day when our kind can walk without fear of discrimination."

"Do you think your government will wait for that day to come?"

"That's your element out there, my friend. Mine's in here now." His eyes locked onto the metal user's and clearly said what didn't need to be voiced aloud or in either of their heads. Back off. And Erik did. He returned to their game and made the final moves that ended it. After it was finished they both sat for a while, silence filling the space between them until the obvious had to be asked.

"Why are you here?"

"You've been dreaming about me."

...well…that, he hadn't expected. No, how could he know? It wasn't possible, he didn't have that kind of range while he was asleep-

"You think I don't dream about that place? That day?"

Charles looked away, feeling incredibly uncomfortable-highly embarrassed and disappointed in himself. What his friend must have seen, heard, felt-and all because of him. It made Charles feel like he was an open book, a visual confirmation of the transparent mess he was on the inside. "I never wanted-"

"You did. Don't deny it."

"You know I'd _never_ lie to you."

"Then tell me why."

Charles took a moment to steady his tenuous hold over his emotions. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific-"

"Stop deflecting. Why?"

Anger flared in his chest, fueled thoughts that he locked away a long time ago. "You know the answer. It's why you're here. What could you possibly get out of hearing it come from me?"

"Proof," Erik said with a tone of warning. His friend was nearing his end with this act as well. "I couldn't blame you if you did hate me-"

"I've only hated you for one reason and it has _nothing_ to do with what happened that day in Cuba." –_Damn him_, he thought. He's gone and said too much now. Erik had just effectively made him dig his own hole. And it made him angry to think back on how easily he'd fallen for it-how easily he'd always made him fall for things like this-

"Then _why_, God damn it-"

"Because you weren't here," Charles shouted.

The power behind his voice echoed back to his own ears, making him regret his outburst because it worsened his headache and likely caused the pain he didn't wish to inflict-not so harshly, at any rate. He didn't need to look up to know that he'd hurt his friend. He could feel it as keenly as if it were his own. So, instead of looking up and seeing the damage he had done, he hid behind his propped hand on the arm of his chair. Too ashamed. Too naked and revealed. Too humanized and low to feel anything other than failure.

"I am limited, Erik," he whispered, feeling tears prick at his closed eyes. "I always have been."

As Charles battled with himself, he distantly heard the rustling of a person rising. _Leaving_…he thought. He couldn't blame his friend for that. He was used to it, seeing friends come and go when he let too much of himself open to see. It was why he had been so set on keeping the focus on the children during that one week they had before Shaw. He couldn't compromise their mission by appearing as anything other than a mentor. It was just unlucky that Erik has been around to see past what he was doing. He should have pushed him away, kept him more at arms length-but not after the memories they shared, not after what lengths Charles went to, to help a friend, a brother, more than a brother.

…look where that got them both.

Here.

Needless to say, he was shocked when he felt a hand settle on his arm. It was a comforting warmth until it pulled, taking the hand down to reveal Charles and his miserable gaze locked on the open window across the room. He only turned his head when Erik called for him.

"That's not a flaw."

"Isn't it," Charles asked, quietly. He used to think he was good at putting things back together. Maybe that had been what drew him to Erik in the first place, a person in need of another to feel whole again. Had it been too much to hope for that things wouldn't unravel a second time-this second time? Maybe he placed too much faith in hope nowadays. It had sustained him before, helped him succeed before. But the fickle nature of it, the moments of disillusionment and sad defeat made him think that hope wasn't worth the effort anymore…

"I wouldn't be in love you if it was."

He stopped breathing. His eyes went wide in disbelief. His mouth hung open with dead words on his lips. And the first thing he did when he recovered was grab Erik by the head, perhaps a little too roughly out of his own fear that it was a lie, and force his way inside the metal user's mind, all in the search for truth to one loaded statement. And when Charles found it, he couldn't help but gasp and jerk away.

Erik hissed in pain and pressed a hand to the side of his head. "Little warning next time?"

"I'm-sorry…you…you said-"

Erik looked at him. His eyes were lidded with shadow and his voice unwaveringly soft. "I know what I said. You know what I said. You know what I feel. And I know what you do, so _prove it_ to me. Right now."

And Charles didn't lie, didn't hide when he surged forward and caught Erik's lips in a bruising kiss. Both fought for dominance, but Charles seemed to have won Erik over the second he lost his fingers in the other's hair. He could hear the sounds he was making, that they were making-a mixture of groans and cries, both soft and needy as well as possessive and loud-and he was suddenly very thankful and happy that he managed to persuade Hank into attending that engineering conference.

Charles let his mind meld with his friend's once more, mixing their feelings, emotions, and disjointed thoughts into a melting pot of pleasure and genuine joy that this was all so fully real. One second Erik's jacket had been on, and the next it was on the floor. Then, _Hold onto me,_ was all the warning Charles got before Erik's arms worked their way under his legs and lifted, never stopping to break their kiss for a glance at where to go.

So, albeit a little clumsy and vague, Charles had to guide Erik to the bed. It would have been highly embarrassing and downright laughable for him to look back on and see how unfocussed his efforts had been, but the thought that it might have excited Erik more was enough for him not to dwell on it. In truth, there was no one in the world he felt comfortable being so open with than Erik.

They separated for only a minute to catch their breaths, foreheads and noses pressed together in rest and comfort from lack of air and energy. And, during that time, Charles realized the feeling of his bed covers beneath him and the wonderful feeling of having Erik above him, tangled and tired as he was after all this time.

_I couldn't stand it_, Erik thought. _Seeing you, hearing you every night. And waking up alone._

_I know the feeling-_

Erik trailed soft kisses down Charles' neck. He paused at the hollow bone space between the telepath's neck and chest, only to make quick work of the vest and shirt buttons. Once done, he continued his languish journey downwards.

_You don't need me, Charles. You never did and you still don't._

_Want and need are two…very-different…things, Erik._

Things he only imagined he'd ever feel. Wonderful. Awakening. Uplifting. And then, suddenly, a fall. And a spike of fear. He grabs his friend by the shoulder and stops him before he can go too far. Only, this time it's not out of inexperience. Just…

Incapability.

"I know," Erik whispered, stopping with one last kiss that Charles could only partially feel. "God, do I know."

His friend was resolved as he rested his head on Charles' chest. He massages the tense hand still fisted in the fabric of his turtleneck to help keep the telepath calm. And he succeeds, for the most part.

"You have the power," Charles says, after a long silence spent controlling his raging emotions. "To completely undo me, my friend."

Erik says nothing, stares off, silent. He's thinking. And Charles lets him. He doesn't intrude. He does what he can with a couple of breathing exercises while he waits, so the brunt of his headache will ease. When it does, Erik is the one waiting for him.

"I know how to disappear, how to live under the radar. You need to be careful."

"We all do."

Erik sighed, heavily.

"What," Charles asked.

"You need to make me forget this night. Us."

There's no need to think for an answer. The only pause in speech is out of surprise and, some, out of hurt, because having done it once, to someone else, was painful enough. But this... "No."

"Charles-"

"You can't ask me to do that to you-"

"I am asking, but not just for me."

Charles narrowed his eyes and studied Erik's face, as well as the surface of his thoughts, not liking what he was picking up on. "What are you planning?"

"It's better you don't know."

And because Charles is a different man than he used to be, he doesn't press Erik for an answer. He admits that his friend is right and remembers that he has more than himself to think about now. To compromise himself would be to compromise countless others. It's in that moment of realization that he also sees how wrong he was about Erik. He sees a man with extraordinary power, one who will never let himself be at the mercy of others again and is, because of that, self-driven. Until this point, Charles had feared that Erik was entirely self-driven. The incident at the beach nullified the other things in his mind-the incident with Cerebro, the exercise in the park, the respect Erik had shown him in the library that night.

Charles has been dead wrong, and ecstatically happy to be so, to see that Erik was a changed man but still the person he remembered and cared deeply for. Despite this, Charles knows that he and Erik are two different people. And now, after everything, he can finally accept that truth. So he pulls Erik down for a short kiss.

"Ask me again in the morning," Charles whispers. "And you'll have it. I promise."

They settle into the night and once morning comes, bright and warm, they're both reluctant to rise. Erik does ask again, and Charles reluctantly agrees. Surprisingly, Erik helps Charles prepare for the day, and it doesn't feel as embarrassing as he expected it to, only strangely intimate and soothing for his impending nerves. When it finally comes down to it, when he's sitting at the ready in his chair with Erik kneeling next to him, he startles at his own tears that well up, overflow, and refuse to stop.

"It's alright," Erik whispered, wiping his face dry. "I want this." _And we need it, for both of our sakes. _

_Perhaps you more than I, my friend,_ he thought to himself. Charles couldn't help but feel like he had a gun in his hand again, trigger at the ready. This was yet another moment in their lives where things would change. And he feared that this time things would be more different than before. But, looking at the strength in Erik, at the faith his friend still had in him, he found his own.

His hand rose to cradle the side of his friend's face, and he let it trace the skin he found there. "I love you, Erik."

"I know."

Charles choked out a brief laugh. "Read my mind, have you?"

"No, just the rush of blood around your heart. And the iron."

He smiled without his eyes. "Truly astounding, my dear friend."

"No more stalling, Charles."

Charles takes a deep breath and takes one of Erik's hands, pressing it to the edge of the helmet lying on the bedside. Then he lowered his other hand around Erik's neck and pulled him down for the last kiss they would ever share, slow and soft, but full of reluctant resignation on both ends. He almost makes Charles lose his concentration when he grabs the hand at the back of his head and intertwines their fingers, but the telepath has the stronger will. And, when his friend had least expected it, Charles slipped into his mind.

He loved Erik enough to let him go, to set him free and let him be the person he'd wanted to be for a long time, even if that meant they would never again share what they did have and could have had. He loved Erik enough to accept that there were old wounds and hurts he could not help heal. Charles loved Erik enough to save him this last pain before they parted, knowing that he could not spare the same pain of himself. He told himself pain was a passing thing, that it would dull and, perhaps, disappear over time.

And the professor was saddened to find that he had finally been right about something with Erik Lehnsherr.

* * *

><p><strong>Many Years Later<strong>

Magneto tapped a finger to the side of his forehead. "Are you sneaking around in here, Charles? Whatever are you looking for?"

The professor sighed and began his mental retreat. "I'm looking for hope."

His friend smiled. "I will bring you hope, old friend, and I ask only one thing in return - don't get in my way. We are the future, Charles, not them. They no longer matter."

"They did once, Erik," he said, stopping the metal user for only a moment.

Magneto turned and felt a cool shiver settle itself between his shoulders. He'd had a feeling about Charles Xavier, about his old friend, for years-one that he couldn't forget. He'd had dreams about a beach, about skies raining with missiles, about blue eyes on a bright morning.

…but nothing more.

What he knew for certain was that Charles hadn't always been in a wheelchair. What he didn't know or remember was how he came to be in one…But he wasn't naïve enough to trust a telepath where these things were concerned. Missing the absence of his helmet spurred his feet onward. It made him nervous to be so exposed before a mutant like Charles.

…even if those eyes were nothing but soft and welcoming, like a deceptive impression of some infinite wealth he would never find.


End file.
